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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111257">The Timely Guide for A Good Omen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscar_is_Wild/pseuds/Oscar_is_Wild'>Oscar_is_Wild</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angel!Twelfth, Gen, Good Omens!AU, Lots of descriptive nonsense, Other, demon!Missy, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:54:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscar_is_Wild/pseuds/Oscar_is_Wild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of emissaries from Heaven and Hell stationed on Earth to watch over humans. The one from Heaven took an appearance of a white-haired grumpy man and called himself ‘Doctor’ whereas the one from Hell took an appearance of a spunky trigger-happy brunette woman and called herself ‘Missy’.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Twelfth Doctor &amp; Missy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Timely Guide for A Good Omen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have this in my draft since November but forgot to post it.</p><p>Don't you think they're just neat for the Crowley-Aziraphale combo?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a dark and drizzly night just a few kilometres on the outskirt of London, a pair of expensive high heeled boots splashily stomping through the uneven asphalt towards a telephone booth, while curiously water droplets seemed to avoid the figure which the high heeled boots belong to down to their ankles like magic, it was like seeing water off a duck’s back, or a taro leaf.</p><p>The curious figure was, in a way one would describe at a fleeting glance; a high-strung rich female politician that is feared and respected at the same time by the Parliament who is also a highly awarded Harper’s Bazaar fashion editor who can also knock you under the table in a drinking contest on a one week Oktoberfest bender while selling you as a scapegoat to the Italian mafia as fast as a fifteen minute lunch break in the park, she would then tell you that one of them is entirely impossible but she would refuse to tell you which.</p><p>And she was fuming, while she rummaged through her, also expensive looking, coat’s pocket in search of a packet of Marlboro. Her stomping stopped in front of the booth’s door at the same time she found the ciggies, she pulled one and held it to her lips. She then flicked her gloved fingers in an attempt to lit a small flame onto her cig but it kept failing, so she ripped her right glove, leather be damned. She tried it again with her gloveless hand and it worked, but in her frustration the flame from her flick proved to be too big and instead burned the whole cig till the stub, it was just like a parody of that famous Malèna scene except with one giant lighter.</p><p>She emitted out a horrible demonic guttural sound no one would expect coming from a lady like her. She was not what you might think she is, let alone a lady. Nobody knew what she was. None of anyone’s business anyway, thank you very much.</p><p>Composing herself she opened the booth’s door and slammed it shut. Once inside she picked up the handset and waited. Even though without putting in any coin nor any numbers, it dialed. Tapping her boots impatiently she waited for a moment, until the other end answered and she finally smiled all teeth and fangs. That was the sound she wanted to hear.</p><p>“Hel—“</p><p>“Doctor, my love! How’s your evening?”</p><p>“... Missy, this better be important to make you disturb my pre-scheduled weekly book preservation which, might I remind you, is a <em>very delicate</em> task.”</p><p>“Depends on your definition of important, my darling; does it concerns me being a melee courier for the new harbinger of future mankind destruction?”</p><p>“Pardon me—<em>WHAT</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, haven’t you heard? Turns out Dear Lucifer is not infertile after all.”</p><p>“Missy come on, be serious.”</p><p>“I’m serious! I always thought HRH Sir Satan The First had a serious menopause issu—“</p><p>“Fuck’s sake—Missy! Please kindly <em>shut it</em> and just wiggle your arse over here to my place. You are going to indulge me for a storytelling and you are not leaving any crumbs left.”</p><p>“Ooh, assertive aren’t you now. Is it that my alluring presence finally tempted my lovely adversary to do sinful thin—“</p><p>“<em>NOW!</em>”</p><p>“Oh alright, you grumpy old geezer! Just let me take a fag first.”</p><p>“Oh good Lord, just smoke here like usual!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>One hour later found a deep green Aston Martin DB2 almost ran over a fire hydrant while said car trying to park in a hurry in front of a lined up townhouses in central Soho. Once parked, the car owner hastily exited the driver’s seat and jumped onto the pavement. It was a miracle for her nine centimetres high heeled boots to survived the night, but they did.</p><p>A woman in an expensive vintage Yves Saint Laurent coat ran up to one of the townhouses’ front step. Without a knock or a prompt, the door swung open immediately and she all but ran inside.</p><p>Once inside the foyer of a private library she strode headlong towards the back room, also known as the room she frequented whenever she paid a visit to this particular townhouse. Before she could blasted the door open off its hinges, a firm voice rung from the inside.</p><p>“No blasting on doors like a barbarian anymore, Missy. Turn the knob and enter calmly like a normal human, please.”</p><p>The woman, Missy, pouted but relented and opened the door gently. She made a face when the door closed off quietly behind her. “Have you perhaps forgo the memo that states I am a demon? Creating havoc is written in our daily agenda but instead you keep trying to convert me into a saint like a newborn babe.” She plopped herself onto the loveseat only to winced back up realizing her bottom met the spine of a thick hard-covered book instead of the soft sofa surface. She proceeded to chucked the book at the back of the head of the only other person in the room.</p><p>Said person fortunately had a keen instinct over his surrounding along with a spry muscle to match to caught the heavy book without turning his head from his desk. “Babies cannot be a saint.” He then stopped his work to raised his head and squinted his eyes, seemingly thinking his admission, “or maybe they can... we need to ask the office.”</p><p>“Oh silly Doctor, of course they can! If they can be demonic spawns of satan then they can also be upgraded into sainthoods. It’s simple math, really.” The lounging woman countered while flicking her one surviving glove somewhere and sorted her long coat prettily over the remaining spaces around the loveseat.</p><p>“Oh right!” The man called Doctor spun quickly on his seat to face his counterpart. His face started to glow a holy light either from excitement or impatience, he tried to tempered it down when Missy clenched her eyes shut. Where were her Rayban anyway, oh well she looked better like this. “So. There is something you want to tell me?”</p><p>Missy scooted to the end of her seat and took Doctor’s hands in her smaller ones. She smiled ruefully, “My Doctor. My angel. How do you feel about <em>resigning</em> from our respected offices?”</p><p>The Doctor’s jaw dropped for a few minutes before he laughed disbelievingly. He tightened their joined hands into a bruising grip.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The conversation continues back and forth between arguments, somber statements, jokes, and random earthly facts. That was how the night went on in one private Soho library; a couple of adversaries sharing each other’s company over glasses of whiskey, then rosé, milk, water, and then back to whiskey from their need to get drunk over discussing the end times for the humankind with a mystical timer for just over a decade.</p><p>But that was another story for another time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Maybe I'll continue when I can, for now I hope this is enough. </p><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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